Of Smiling Breakfasts
by DealingDearie
Summary: Princess Nuala wakes before Abe does, and decides to occupy her time with cooking. Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.


Nuala wakes to the light tickle of warm sunlight upon her skin, filtering in through a crack in the window curtains, and the sigh of the sheets as she stirs seems to permeate the quiet of the bedroom. Beside her, Abraham sleeps with his large eyes open, stiffly laid out on his back to avoid smothering his gills, and she thinks of how hard it must be to sleep so uncomfortably, especially after spending most nights in the water.

He had insisted, though, that they sleep in the same bed, at least for the night, and the memory of his devotion makes her heart flutter with fondness. She smiles softly before carefully slipping out of bed, silently untangling herself from the silky covers so that she doesn't wake him, and she hastily tugs on her nightgown, still lying on the floor from when she tossed it away last night, shivering as the cold air chills her pale skin. Nuala gently pads across the room, the plush carpet sliding against the soles of her bare feet, and she fidgets with the wedding ring on her finger, a habit she's starting to develop upon waking.

She quietly leaves the room and closes the door behind her, going about with her morning routine with the utmost care, painfully aware of her husband sleeping down the hall. She changes her clothes, and brushes her teeth-making a face, like always, at the odd flavor Abraham's chosen for the toothpaste-before entering the kitchen to make breakfast. Cooking, like many things, is still new to her, but she's learning from Abraham and the rest of their family, and is slowly getting used to the ins and outs of a human lifestyle.

The golden tipped strands of her near white hair drop down from her shoulder as she leans over to put a skillet on the stove, moving to the refrigerator to grab her supplies, and her milky golden eyes shine in the dim lighting as the smell of bacon gradually drifts through the air, eventually reaching all rooms of the house. The skillet clangs against the eye of the stove when she finishes, lifting it off of the burner, and the elf flinches before hurriedly putting the pan in the sink, hoping that she didn't disturb Abraham's slumber.

Absentmindedly, she hums to herself, an old song from her youth sheltered within the faint memories of greens and blues and yellows, and as she meticulously places each piece of bacon around the certain areas of eggs she'd scrambled shortly after cooking the bacon, she thinks, contentedly, of the tenderness of her husband's words as they'd murmured to each other in the darkness, promises of children and all of the years to come lying suspended between them. It's a healthy thing, a promise, and it makes Nuala feel lighter than she has in years, finally unburdened after so many centuries, finally allowed to have that happiness she'd only ever dreamt of.

She places the plate of food-now resembling a smiling face- and a glass of orange juice on a tray, adding a small saucer of "well aged" eggs to top it off, and she slowly carries the tray through the kitchen and down the hall nudging the bedroom door open with her shoulder to see Abraham's still sleeping form. She carefully sets the food down on the nightstand and sits on her side of the bed, at the very edge, so that the mattress doesn't dip too much and startle him awake.

In his sleep, he looks peaceful-or as peaceful as he _can_ look, considering that he can't show facial expressions, awake _or_ asleep. His breathing is steady, the measured flapping of his gills and the up and down rhythm of his chest putting her at ease, and she reaches out to lightly trace the striped patterns of his abdomen, revealed by the downward tugging of the sheets in his sleep, with her pale finger, her gold dusted fingernail brushing against his cool skin.

He stirs, mumbling something incoherent that sounds an awful lot like her name, and she grins as she runs her finger up his stomach and over the broad expanse of muscle on his chest, moving further past his sternum and over the taut stretch of skin across his collarbone to wind up outlining the shape of his gills, mesmerized as they move gracefully back and forth.

She moves up to cup his cheek in her palm, stifling down a giggle as he lazily moves his hand up to brush hers away, and when she ignores his sleepy protests, the groggy presence of his mind mingles with her own thoughts, and she sighs with the relief that floods her every time she hears his thoughts, which are muddled and foggy with slumber, but still clear enough to get across the message of his love, and she blushes, golden-hued blood seeping into her pale cheeks, the light scars across her face darkening with color.

On his second attempt to push her hand away, he reaches out and wraps his webbed fingers around her wrist, bringing the heel of her hand down against his lips, and he kisses her tenderly, sending familiar tingles down her arm. The blue cloth of her sleeve slips down and falls against his hand, and he blinks at the contact, gazing up at her with curious eyes as he tilts his head, becoming more alert with each second.

She bends down to press her lips to his, smiling against his mouth as he wraps his arms around her shoulders, the heat of her skin warming his fingers through the thin material of her dress, and her laughter, soft and melodic, rings through his head.

_Good morning_.

That's all it takes to make the morning, despite whatever may come, a good one, _indeed_.

**Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)**

**All rights go to their respectful owners. **

**Prompts and ideas are welcome...**

**But there aren't many people that enjoy Hellboy, let alone this particular pairing. (AKA: the reason for me ending up with 0 prompts) xD**


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